


Noisemakers

by Anonymous



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Family, Gen, bonding through carpentry, non-radchaai-typical pronouns (queter thinks in delsig)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22986610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Queter and her family, before and after
Relationships: Queter & Queter's Grandfather
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Anonymous, Purimgifts 2020





	Noisemakers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lea_hazel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/gifts).



> Hello lea_hazel! I hope you're having a wonderful Purim!
> 
> For today's fic, I wanted to take a look at the Valskaayan field workers we met in Ancillary Sword. 
> 
> Note: my headcanon is that while power tools are definitely extant in the Radchverse, Fosyf only made particularly janky ones available for rent, and absolutely unreasonable rents.

When Queter is still too little to see the tops of the sturdy workbenches, she sneaks into the woodworking shed (barefoot, though she is always supposed to wear shoes outside the house) to play with the tools in the lower drawers. Anything she could hurt herself with too badly is kept above the reach of curious children, but there are nails of all sizes, and scrap wood and polymers, and dozens upon dozens of chisels in a multitude of shapes—each unrusting alloy blade set in a pale wood handle, lacquer worn away by someone’s hours of carving, long before Queter was born. (She learns, years later, that they were discards of a Xhai craftsperson, nearly five hundred years before, passed down from Samirend laborers to the first Valskaayan transportees on the Daughter of Fishes plantation.)

There are never enough supplies for a child’s experimentation, so Queter learns by watching. Every few months there’s a leak in the roof that needs to be patched, a new piece of broken furniture from the upper house to be fixed for a few extra days of food, or a new handle to be fitted to an old tool. She carries shingles and nails, turns the hand-cranked lathe, and listens to the adults talk about what life was like before Athoek.

When Queter is thirteen, she gets in a screaming match with Uran. It’s one of many, this year, when all of her anger seems so close to the surface (in a few years Raughd will take an interest in Uran, and the screaming will peter out). She is saying something she will regret when Grandfather Dov rests a firm hand on her shoulder. “Come to the work shed with me,” he says, voice quiet and absolute.

Queter comes, shooting a last glare at Uran as she walks into the rain.

Grandfather shakes the beaded water out of his hair and beckons Queter over to the workbench below the brightest of the tube lights. He’s sketched something on a thin piece of scrap wood—bold lines with the hint of a wobble that belies his arthritis. There’s a gear, attached to some sort of handle, and a thin tongue of wood inside a bigger box. Queter stares at the pieces for a moment, trying to figure out what they _do,_ “It’s a… noisemaker?”

“Yes,” he grinned, “It’s a grogger, for Purim.”

"Like that old printed one!"

"Yes. There's a mechanism like this inside. I thought you might appreciate the project. It's about time you learned your way around the tools, too."

She spends two evenings after that in the shop, free for the first time to do whatever feels right with the tools. They plan the best they can, but still discard two gears and five clacker boards before finishing the first prototype. When Queter spins it, the clacking is loud enough to drown out her tangled thoughts.

She can only make the spinning groggers with scrap wood too small for more important projects, but she manages to slip a few into her gift baskets every year. 

-

There’s no particular reason for Queter to go back to the plantation for Purim, except that Grandfather Dov contacted her in real time to ask.

(Before she leaves Athoek Station, Queter tries to print a few groggers on _Sphene's_ newly functional matter printers. None of them sound quite right, but _Sphene_ insists on keeping one. Her ancillary has been spinning it every time Anaander Mianaai is mentioned, and at least five people on Athoek Station are planning murder.)

The smell of tea nearly bowls Queter over as she and Uran step out of their vehicle. Athoek station isn’t scentless, but constant recirculation of the air tends to leave the air tasting washed out and metallic. Nothing above the stratosphere smells like windswept mountains. 

Uran has grown three centimeters since they last stood on this dirt, and with his spine held straight he stands among the tallest in the gaggle of relatives. All of them seem, if not less exhausted, at least brighter. Queter stays a few steps back. It’s only been a few months and with what she did—

A child dressed as a monster from some Radchaai kids' entertainment runs headlong into Queter’s knees, breaking her reverie and sending her stumbling back a few steps, “Auntie Queter! You’re back!” 

A small hand finds hers, and drags her into the group hug. There’s hesitation on both sides, except for the youngest kids. Queter carries a toddler on each hip as she makes her way back to the old field house. She drops them off at the front door with a bag of candied fruit each, then has to pause and distribute a sack for each of the dozen clamoring children who follow her.

Grandfather Dov is already in the work shed by the time Queter slips away. She ignores him, humming quietly as she traces out a circle on a piece of scrap. It’s a full ten minutes before she sets her stick of charcoal down, “I won’t apologize. Not to you, not to my aunts, not anyone.”

“Granddaughter, you did only one thing wrong—Raughd didn’t hang.”

Queter chuckled, “At least there was only one of her. I don’t know what we would have done with ten.”

He throws back his head and laughs. “Come back to the house, Queter. One of your aunts is trying to make cookies that look like Fosyf’s hats, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate your clever fingers.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Today's graphic is a still from [a video I found while looking for carpentry tutorials for making groggers.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRHxjcAaALQ)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
